


Rendezvous Point

by Eighthofhearts



Category: Doctor Who (Big Finish Audio), Gallifrey (Big Finish Audio)
Genre: Deception, Earth, Fluff and Smut, Light Angst, M/M, UST
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-07
Updated: 2015-12-15
Packaged: 2018-05-05 11:13:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5373248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eighthofhearts/pseuds/Eighthofhearts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After receiving word about an illegal temporal arms trade happening on Earth, Narvin heads to the planet of the humans where he faces conflict with both adversaries and friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Are you sure this is the proper thing to do, Coordinator?" The CIA agent shuffled in his spot as he kept his voice to a whisper, a trace of panic hinted in his tone. "President Romana did not sanction this. You could be walking right into a trap!"

Narvin continued readying himself, packing his time capsule with supplies and arming himself with staser upon staser. 

"Are you really going to question me, Oylin? I know what I am doing. I am leaving you in charge, in fact, and it’s because I trust you, and for a spy to trust someone, it says a damn whole lot. But do you mean for me to reevaluate my choices? Would perhaps Kysa be better suited to watch over Gallifrey in my absence?"

"N-no, no, no, I mean," the young operative stuttered and jumped back as Narvin pushed past him, "Of course not, sir. I'm more than capable of keeping an eye on things. But... if I may inquire something?"

"Proceed," Narvin droned, not looking up from his task at hand.

"What in Rassilon's name are you wearing?"

The Coordinator looked up at Oylin, who seemed to be regretting his question. Narvin stood, he wasn't very much taller than Oylin, but he knew how to hold himself to make it seem as though he was. 

"Agent Oylin," Narvin began, "When going on an unsanctioned off world mission, one must not draw attention to themselves and just appear to blend in. Lucky for me, humans have a high enough resemblance to Gallifreyans that I need only to change my attire. I'm going to twenty-first century Earth, and I don't think my robe would quite blend in there."

"Right right, of course," Oylin backed away from the Coordinator, "It's just so... alien." 

Narvin rolled up the cuffs on his black button-down shirt, "Well, to them, we're the aliens. We may look fairly similar, but we are two entirely different species, and I'm glad. I don't understand how these humans can wear such impractical clothing."

...

The meeting wasn’t scheduled for another few hours, so Narvin took the opportunity to explore his surroundings and try to find ways to blend in. There was a possibility this mission was going to be extensive, taking days, weeks, even months, he couldn’t know for sure. 

He took a little slip of paper out of his pocket, ‘40.730268, -74.000417 at 1800’, it read, the coordinates and time of his meetup. There was no way that he would ever admit it, but Narvin was apprehensive about his plan. 

While the information pertaining to the case had come through a trusted network, the source itself was unknown. He only had a few informants who would know about the going ons of Earth, but there were some he would much rather see than others. With a compact staser strapped to his ankle, he was prepared for anything that might come his way.

But now was not the time to worry about that. He still had two hours until the meeting. With his watch set, Narvin set off to explore the city. 

He had landed in a city familiar to him only by name, New York. He had done his research and found that to the humans, it was considered grand and wondrous, but through the eyes of an outsider, Narvin couldn’t help but find the whole scene disorienting. It’s not that he wasn’t acclimated to the tall buildings and hoards of people, they had that on Gallifrey. It was simply the fact that that he was an outsider, a lone non-human in a pack of millions.

Usually this would be something that Narvin would find trivial, who cared that he wasn’t human, he was there to do a job and that was it. However, because of the added stress of not knowing how his meeting would go, Narvin couldn’t stop the twinges of anxiety from getting to him. He had faced scarier adversaries than humans before, ones that attacked him, some which even caused him to regenerate. But when it came down to it, Narvin would rather take his chances with the scariest of aliens than with the likes of the human race. 

He had to put his fears behind him. He couldn’t be seen walking around, doe eyed and afraid. Narvin had to swallow his anxieties and just buck up, it couldn’t be that hard. 

Narvin’s time capsule was stowed safely away, not too far from the rendezvous point, in case he needed to make a quick escape. He hoped it wouldn’t have to come to that. Headed north, he took off on foot with only bare essentials in his pack. He had a map, a bundle of Earth currency, a fake ID that identified him as Jefferson “Jeff” Steele and just in case anything went wrong, a vile of liquid Retcon, hidden in the pocket of what humans called a ‘hoodie’.

Originally, he had planned to do some sightseeing, getting to know the landscape of the city and perhaps understand the culture a bit more, but time escaped him. Before long, he realized he only had twenty minutes until his meet up, and was at least an hour’s walk from his destination. He looked around, trying to see if he could obtain a vehicle to get him to his meeting, but then realized he had no idea how to operate one of these machines. Panicked, he approached a man stood on the corner of a block.

“Excuse me, sir,” he creeked, his voice fluctuating through his adopted affected accent, “Do you know how I can get to MacDougal street in the next 20 minutes?”  
The man laughed, but then realized Narvin was being serious. “I’m guessing you’re not from around here.”

“No, I am from… Wales. Could you help me, I have a meeting I must get to.”

The man sighed, “Well, your best bet’s a taxi, but good luck getting one of those during rush hour.”

“Taxi? How do I get a… taxi?” He cleared his throat, trying not to let his accent slip.

The man raised his hand high above his head, and looked out towards the street. Eventually a bright yellow car stopped by him. 

“There, now get in and tell the man where you need to go.”

“Thank you, sir,” Narvin shook the man’s hand as he left, remembering it to be a sign of camaraderie.

“Right,” the man sighed as he walked off.

Narvin opened the door and stepped into the back of the cab. He looked around the insides for a moment before his attention was drawn to the sound of the driver knocking on the glass divider. 

“Yo,” the driver called, “Where do you wanna go?”

“Oh yes, um,” he hesitated, “Could you get me to 119 Macdougal Street in 20 minutes?”

The driver laughed, “Oh, you’re serious? Well, I can definitely try, but it’ll cost you extra.”

“Don’t worry, I can afford it.”

The driver sped off, weaving in and out of traffic as he rushed down the streets. Narvin didn’t much appreciate the rattling his stomach got by the erratic driving, but he was thankful that he actually managed to get to his meeting just in time. 

As he stepped out of the cab, he took about half of the wad of his cash, and threw it through the car’s front passenger window.

“Thank you, I hope that is enough,” He yelled at the driver as he ran off.

“Hey, this is Canadian money,” the driver shouted, but Narvin was already gone.

…

With just two minutes to spare, Narvin walked through the doors of Caffe Ruggio, and was immediately hit by the smell of coffee. He hadn’t smelled it since his last trip to Earth, and was quite glad it was still a custom that existed. He looked around the establishment, to see perhaps if he could eye out his informant. The place was almost full, a table here or there empty. He searched for lone occupants, and saw that only one caught his eye. At the back of the shop sat a figure with his back turned to Narvin, appearing as if he were reading a newspaper. This had to be his mark.

Narvin confidently approached the subject, and cleared his throat to get his attention. The man turned, and Narvin sank in his place. This wasn’t his informant. 

“Oh oh, I-I’m very sorry,” he said, trying, and failing, to keep up with his accent. 

“Oh, Coordinator!” A voice called from behind him.

Narvin turned slowly, he knew that voice. He looked over to see a man sitting in the corner seat of a long, padded bench. Both his hearts sank immediately.

“Oh great…” he murmured, “Braxiatel.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Braxiatel, I demand to know what you think you are doing here. I am on... “ Narvin paused, and lowered his voice to a whisper, “I am on a very important mission and I don’t have time to deal with your shenanigans.”

“I’m your contact,” Braxiatel replied, a smug smile curling into his lips.

“I beg your pardon!?”

“It’s me! I’m the one who sent you the tip, I’m your ‘secret informant’, your sneak, your snitch, your tipster…”

“Alright, enough enough,” Narvin interrupted, “I get it. But, what I don’t get is why you had to be so difficult. You could have simply told me on Gallifrey what information you had and spared me this whole ordeal.”

“Oh,” Braxiatel dramatically furrowed his brow to feign offense, his mouth left slightly agape, “That wouldn’t have been any fun, now would it? Speaking of fun, it looks like you had a grand old time rummaging through some old CIA costume trunks, now didn’t you?”

Braxiatel snickered as he eyed the Coordinator up and down. He admitted to himself that the shirt fit Narvin quite well, he even liked the added touch of the rolled up sleeves, but not much else worked. The trousers were cut a bit too long and at least a size or two too large. And the shoes, they were clunky and ancient, an anachronism waiting to be pointed out. A vest might suit Narvin, he thought, but that’s not what he was there to discuss.

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing? I have it on perfectly good authority that these are modern Earth clothes.”

“That says a lot about CIA authority then,” Braxiatel murmured.

“What did you say?”

“Oh nothing, nothing,” Brax chuckled quietly.

“Well, never mind my clothes, why don’t we just skip all this squabbling and get down to business,” Narvin said, the annoyance of earlier wiped off his face and replaced by stern looks, “What is it that you needed to tell me?”

Braxiatel sighed, “Oh, you’re no fun. Well, if you must know… There’s an arms trade going down in the city in a week’s time. Temporal weapons to be sold to what I believe are ex-time agents, some Human, some Gallifreyan. Exactly how many weapons to be bought and sold, I do not know, but I do know the sale is going down at an art gallery opening a week from tonight.”

Narvin was enthralled by all the news, he was leaning towards Brax with anticipation, so much so that he was almost completely out of his seat. When Braxiatel finished, he sat back and cleared his throat.

“Well, that is quite a lot to prepare for, but good thing you told me now. A week is more than apt time to prepare for this,” he paused, looking deep in thought, “How did you find out about this?”

“I’m friends with the owner of the gallery where the sale is being made. The dealers mistook my friend as human, and thought he’d be gullible enough to not realize their ‘art installations’ were actually wartime weapons. When he saw what they actually were, he contacted me, so I, in turn, contacted you, in hopes for your assistance.”

“Assistance? You mean you’re actually asking me for help?” Narvin sat back, his arms folded and his entire body oozing smugness.

“Yes, yes I am,” Braxiatel replied in a matter-of-fact tone, “I’m currently sequestered to Earth on…. other business, and with the means I have, I don’t believe I could have done this alone. I’m sure you have a time capsule full of supplies nearby.”

“Just around the corner,” Narvin answered flatly.

“Well, you’re going to have to leave it there for the night,” Braxiatel announced as he stood, “I have somewhere else for you to stay.”

…

The pair remained silent for the duration of the ride in what Braxiatel proclaimed to be his “white noble steed”, which in reality to Narvin was just another vehicle. It took them about a half hour of driving before they reached a row of stone faced apartments, each of them slightly different than the others. As they stepped out of the car, Narvin could immediately tell which house was Brax’s, it was as clear as the bright scarlet door that led into it. 

The inside was much to be expected, not at all subtle, adorned on every wall by paintings new and old, some sculpture or another in almost every corner and a beautiful leather couch in the center, almost a piece of art on it’s own. But this meant nothing to Narvin.

“I could show you around the pl….”

“No, please just show me my room,” Narvin commanded.

“Of course,” Brax bowed his head slightly as he lead Narvin up a flight of stairs.

Narvin's room was the first door on the left, when opened it was revealed to be a plain little room, decorated only by a small brown lamp on the bedside table.

“I haven’t really gotten a chance to spruce this room up. I apologize for its’ shoddiness,” Braxiatel lamented sincerely. 

“Nonsense, it has a bed, it’s perfect,” Narvin said, throwing his small bit of luggage onto the mattress.

“Right,” Brax nodded simply, “Well, if you need me, I’ll be downstairs. I might pop out a bit later for some business, my number is on the fridge, and the kitchen is completely stocked with whatever you may need.”

“Hmm, oh, right, thank you,” Narvin quipped, not paying much attention to his host.

Braxiatel opened his mouth to leave one last word, but decided against it. With his hands clasped behind his back, he exited the room.

Once alone, Narvin began to unpack. In one small bag, he had several changes of clothes, much of which he was sure Braxiatel would disapprove of. In his other bag, which was much larger, it was crowded with different tools he believed he might need for this mission, including several maps of the city with prime target locations circled, enough money that might have lasted him for some time, had he not been in New York city and had it not been Canadian, and of course, his personal staser. 

He felt quite content with the progress he was making at this point, and now with his new intel from Braxiatel, he could better plan his course of action. From the larger bag, he took out a digital index, disguised as a human piece of technology known as a ‘laptop’. Brax had told him that he didn’t know who might be pulling off this deal, but perhaps he could figure it out on his own. 

Over the next few hours, Narvin spent his time plotting out possible plans of attack for the deal. He hadn’t quite figured out who was behind everything, but he at least he had an idea. It wasn’t until he looked outside and saw that the sun had set some time ago that it was late, and that he was feeling quite peckish. 

He descended the stairs, expecting to find Braxiatel in the living room, but instead discovered he was alone.

“Brax? Braxiatel?” He called out as he walked over to the kitchen, “Are you h…”

He paused as he saw a bright orange piece of paper with flourish handwriting on it stuck on the fridge with a small flower magnet. 

‘Popped out for a little while, that business I mentioned before needed some attending to. There’s food in fridge, but if you want, I left some money and numbers for take out. I should be back around midnight. xxx - I.B.’

“Hmm,” Narvin tutted, “That was… nice of him.”

Narvin placed the small note on the counter and began to rummage through the refrigerator. Most of the food was foreign to him, he had no idea how to prepare any of it. So instead of possibly be responsible for burning down Braxiatel flat, he decided to order out instead. 

The menus Braxiatel had left might have been plainly simple to the average human, but to an ‘alien’ like Narvin, it was like they were in an entirely different language. The best course of action he could think to take was to order from the oldest looking menu, hopefully meaning that Braxiatel liked and trusted the establishment. 

“Pound and Pence?” he read aloud, “Seems… good.”

He scanned the menu, not knowing what much of it meant, but saw a small tick mark next to the “English Beef Stew”, which he hoped meant it was good. There was only one way he could find out.

…

About two hours and one beef stew later, Narvin was full and content. Sat on the surprisingly comfy leather couch in the living room, Narvin unwound and digested. There was a small television mounted on the wall facing him, and it made Narvin curious. Perhaps he might learn a bit more about human culture by watching a program or two.

…

Just after midnight, Braxiatel walked through the front door, tired from the long day. As he placed his keys in a small glass bowl by the door, he looked up and was surprised to see that the TV was on. He thought it strange, but then saw his explanation fast asleep on the couch. He chuckled to himself. Narvin looked so peaceful, a state he hadn’t seen the Coordinator in… ever. 

He thought about waking him and telling him to go to his room to get more comfortable, but he looked pretty comfortable already. Instead, he got a spare blanket and some pillows from the hall closet and carefully set them up for Narvin. 

“Sleep well,” Braxiatel whispered as he shut the TV and went up to his own room.


End file.
